A Particular Darkness by Robert E. Dunn

Author:Robert E. Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-04T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

My encounter with Aton Gagarin left me feeling as much confused as suspicious. His peculiar bipolar personality was a huge red flag begging for attention. Unfortunately I didn’t have evidence to give him the hard look he deserved. Judges don’t issue warrants for bad feelings. At least not for mine.

So I headed to the one place I knew that held some answers—Uncle Orson’s dock.

When I arrived there was a good fire going in the split barrels that served as grills. Dad was helping out, turning burgers and chicken halves. Whilomina was right beside him slathering sauce on the birds. Damon was out pumping gas for a couple of fishermen and Uncle Orson was wearing a groove in the boards shuttling between the register and everything else.

“Busy day,” I said as the screen door slapped behind me.

“Take a look around you,” Orson said without slowing down. “What do you see?”

“Nothing different.”

“The sky,” he prodded. “The air, the heat, the weather. You’re telling me you don’t see the difference in that. It’s gorgeous.”

I hadn’t noticed. He was right, though. It was a beautiful day and the first really nice one of the spring. That had brought the retirees and the leisure class out to the water.

“You have a congresswoman cooking your chicken dinners.”

“Yeah, can you believe it?” He asked.

I couldn’t.

“I need to talk with Damon,” I told him.

“Now? What ever happened with your—”

I’d walked out before he could finish the sentence.

“Hey, kid.” Dad greeted.

“Do you want a plate?” Whilomina offered.

Their vision of domestic bliss had my head spinning. I wasn’t sure yet if I liked the congresswoman, but I was pretty sure she was here to stay. Dad looked happy and I hated that I still didn’t know how I felt about that either. I should have said something nice or at least smiled. Instead I said, “We need to talk. I’ll be right back.” Then I went right on to Damon.

The boat was fueled and Damon pushed it away from the dock with his foot. The fisherman started the motor and idled away.

“Is Mike involved?” I’d decided to lead with the cop before the friend. Not that I’m much of a friend they keep telling me.

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“Yes you do. Maybe not everything. But you know my meaning clearly enough.” I let that stand there between us for a moment then asked again. “Is Mike involved?”

“I don’t—”

“The federal investigation into you and your friends—what’s that about?”

“What investigation?”

“What’s your connection to Silas Boone? Who killed Daniel Boone?”

“Daniel’s dead?”

“What?” His question put me back on my heels. The shock in his face and voice looked like it might sink into the pit of his gut and drag him to the floor. Still I pushed. “How can you act like you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t.” It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t a plea. His words were fact with baggage, a statement of loss. “I didn’t . . . How?”

“What are you talking about?” My question was still an accusation. I believed his body language but not his words.

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